Protegees
by GLEE-Anna
Summary: Kurt finds out he's not the only young gay protegee at Dalton, and he isn't happy about it.  If you're intrigued review - - and I'll write more about who the protegee is and what Kurt does about it.  Thanks!
1. Chapter 1

"I'm telling you, the boy is crazy about you, Kurt," Mercedes assured him. They were walking along the tree-lined walkways of Dalton, back in a secluded corner of the campus.

"You really think so?" Kurt asked doubtfully. "There it is. Blaine showed me this, even though I'm not supposed to know about it until Junior year." He pointed to a small gatehouse.

"Fascinating," Mercedes said dismissively. "You're turning into a regular worker drone in this place, aren't you?" At Kurt's startled look, she shrugged and indicated his uniform. "You look like everybody else. Getting into their weird little rituals and rules. I'm not sure I recognize you."

"I'm still me no matter how I'm dressed, Mercedes," he said irritably. "Maybe you don't recognize me because I'm not sticking out of a locker or dripping with slushie - - or because I'm actually happy."

"You saying you were never happy at McKinley?" Mercedes demanded, hurt. "You know I was your friend all along. Don't forget about that because you have new friends now. Or because you have a boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend, Mercedes. And - -"

"Sh," Mercedes said, frowning and turning around. "You hear that? Somebody arguing."

"I know we are - - " Kurt cut off, recognizing one of the voices. Followed by Mercedes, he climbed over a stone wall and walked cautiously to the gatehouse, and peeped around the corner, where he gasped and stared a heart-broken moment with Mercedes' sympathetic hand on his arm.

"Oh, Kurt - -" she whispered before he shook off her hand and ran back the way they came, with Mercedes struggling to catch up.


	2. Chapter 2

**a/n: Thanks for the reviews and encouragement to keep writing this story. Yes, my first "chapter" was really short - - I tend to prefer my writing "short and sweet" - - like Blaine. Ha ha. And I'm afraid I didn't watch Glee much last year and only got really hooked this year, so some of my information might be a little sketchy - - for purposes of this story, Kurt is 16 and a sophomore, Blaine is 17 and a junior. Please review!**

"Stop it," he said, twisting his mouth away and shoving. He stood leaning against the gatehouse, out of breath from the passionate onslaught, and glared angrily. "I told you, it's over. I don't want this anymore, and you have to leave me alone."

The older man was breathless too, but gasped out, "Who the hell do you think you are?" The man was handsome, and might have been distinguished when he wasn't wild-eyed with anger, pushing back at his slightly graying hair with shaking hands, as he was now. "After everything I've done for you, you have the nerve to dump _me?"_

Blaine's eyes flickered uneasily and he softened his voice. "Look, I know I owe you a lot, Miles, but I can't help how I feel. You know things haven't been right between us for a long time, and there's somebody else I have feelings for- -"

"Somebody _else?_" Miles shouted. "Oh, hell no. I _made_ you. You're nothing without me. After I spent three years making you _somebody_ worth even bothering with - - teaching you everything you know - - you think you'll walk away and give it all to some stranger? Who is it?"

"It doesn't matter, Miles - -"

"It's that little public-school queen that you're always hanging around with, isn't it?"

"Don't talk about him like that," Blaine said angrily.

Miles fell silent for a tense moment, and when he spoke again his voice was deadly quiet. "Okay, Blaine. I get it. You've been with me since you were fourteen … you want to sow a few wild oats with another kid your age. Go ahead and do him, get it over with, but I still expect to see you just as often as ever."

"I don't know what's going to happen with Kurt. I don't know if he feels the same as me, not for sure," Blaine said shakily. "But whatever happens, he's made me realize that I have to end it with you - - that I don't love you. I may have only known him a few weeks. But you never made me feel like he does, not in three years."

Miles raised a hand and Blaine flinched away, but the older man dropped the hand and laid it on Blaine's face wistfully.

"So beautiful. Like Tom Ford and Cary Grant had a baby," he said softly. "And yet, you were such a mess when I found you. Remember? Poor, uneducated, unkempt. You were nothing, until I showed you how to dress and act and got you into this school. You're still nothing, Blaine, _nothing_, without me."

"Kurt doesn't talk to me like that," Blaine said faintly. "He doesn't try to make me feel bad about who I am."

"Maybe because he doesn't know who you really are," Miles said mockingly. "Just the face you've put on that I gave you."

"This is a waste of time. I said it's over, and that's it," Blaine said, trying to sound strong. He turned to go but Miles grabbed his arm roughly.

"Get this straight, Blaine. _I _say when it's over – not you."

Blaine jerked his arm out of Miles's grasp, but the man kept talking after him. "You leave me, I pull your scholarship. You wanna go back to public school, loser?" he called cruelly. "It's a tough world out there without someone to take care of you."

Blaine slowed down, his hand on the gatehouse wall.

"That's right, Blainey. Back to your old group home, your old public school, no more music scholarship, no more _Warblers_," he said, making mocking jazz hands at him. "Think about how that'll be for a while before you decide. I'll give you a few days to think about what side of the bread the butter's on - - mine or that little twit who's caught your eye."

"If you pull my scholarship, I'll tell the school trustees about us," Blaine lashed out. "I was underage when it started- - you'll get fired."

Miles raised his eyebrows, annoyed. "If you open your mouth about how you got that scholarship, everyone will know you're … well, they have words for what you are. And Dalton doesn't give scholarships for that. You'll be let go, even if they believe you."

There were a few stray crows still lingering in the woods despite the cold weather, and Blaine could hear their cawing and beating wings as a flock of them flew out of the brush behind Miles, who stood expectantly waiting.

"I hate you," Blaine said shakily.

Miles smirked, moving closer and putting an arm around the boy's waist, ignoring the cringe he got in return. He placed a soft kiss on Blaine's cheek. "That's okay."

Mercedes hadn't been able to keep up with Kurt, and hurried, out of breath, out the gate of the Dalton campus where she'd seen him run out. Looking up and down the street, she saw him huddled with his knees against his chest, sitting under a tree in the park across the street.

"I'm sorry, Kurt," Mercedes said, plopping down next to him on the cold, hard ground. "I know you liked him."

Kurt's thin white hand tightened over his arm, and she rubbed it gently. "It hurts when you realize the other person can't return your feelings," she said. "I know how that can be."

"I thought he was flirting with me, that he just was holding back from making a move because of - - everything going on with my old school," Kurt said, his voice muffled by his arms. "I feel like an idiot. I mean, look at what he has - - a grown up boyfriend, sophisticated, mature. I'm just a stupid kid to him."

"Kurt, don't you think he's a little _too_ old? I mean he looks like forty. Don't you think that's weird?"

Kurt looked up and wiped his nose on a bright purple pocket square he kept hidden in his jacket pocket, one outlet of his vivid personality that he clung to in secret. "He's the head of the music department here," he explained.

Mercedes' eyes widened. "Kurt, a _teacher_? In the department Blaine studies in? Don't you think that's kind of inappropriate?"

"Well, it's legal. Blaine's over sixteen," Kurt said dully. "If that's what he's into, older guys, then obviously there's no hope for me."

"I should go back there and tell him off but good," Mercedes said viciously. "He led you on - -"

"He never asked to be more than friends," Kurt pointed out. "It's not his fault I fell for him."

Loyal Mercedes shook her head emphatically. "It _is_ his fault. He flirted with you – let you think he was single – "

Wearily, Kurt got up. "It doesn't do any good to dwell on it. I'll just steer clear of him from now on," he said despondently. He couldn't bear the sight of Blaine now that he knew that he had misread the other boy's signals. He knew he wouldn't be able to look at him again without seeing him in someone else's arms, and he couldn't hide how that made him feel, he wasn't one who was able to make his feelings invisible. But he dreaded the next weeks without him. Dalton had been hard enough, the tough schoolwork, the uniforms, the 'new kid' strain, the living away from home. Dalton without Blaine as even a friend was going to be … completely empty.


	3. Chapter 3

Kurt squirreled himself away in the library whenever he wasn't in class, eating his meals from the vending machine and sneaking into his room just in time for lights-out, for the next couple of days. He found himself ravenous with hunger one night, with a pounding headache, and ventured out of his room to slip down to the lobby. Passing the commons, he saw Blaine sitting on the couch reading a book and tried to scurry past without being seen.

"Hey, stranger. Where were you last night?" Blaine called.

Kurt groaned inwardly, but straightened up his spine and threw out his chin proudly. "Last night?"

"Warblers practice, remember?"

A frown passed over Kurt's face.

"I thought I'd see you there. Seems like nobody's seen you around much outside class. Everything okay?"

Kurt shrugged a shoulder. "Everything's fine, thanks for asking. I just had too much studying to make it to practice, that's all. If you don't mind, I'm going to my room now."

"Listen, Kurt, I don't mean to be a meddler or anything, and I know I told you not to try so hard. But I didn't mean not try at all. The guys are going to think you don't like them if you keep hiding all the time, and the Warblers – well, if you miss another practice, you'll get cut. There are rules here, you know."

"Did I ask you for advice on following rules?" Kurt snapped.

Blaine looked hurt. "No, but when I first came here, I was shy and … well, different from the other boys, coming from public school and all. I had to learn a lot, and I thought I'd save you some of the trouble I had fitting in. Kind of mentor you a little like – somebody – did for me when I was new."

"Maybe I don't want to 'fit in'. And maybe I don't need a _mentor_ as you call it."

"What's that mean?"

Kurt sneered, "You tell me, Blaine. That 'mentoring' you're talking about? Who gave it to you?"

Blaine went a little pale and shrugged, "he's not a student here … anymore."

"Really? What was his name, Blaine? How old was he?"

"We're not talking about me here," Blaine protested, starting to get annoyed. "I'm doing fine, you're the one having problems getting with the program and making friends, not me."

"I know what kind of friends you have – one in particular. In high places."

If Blaine had been pale before he was bright red suddenly. "What are you talking about? Go on – say what you have to say."

"I know all about you and Mr. Stevens." As Blaine started to splutter and deny, Kurt cut him off with a cold, "I saw you together at the gatehouse. I mean, honestly, Blaine, is that what you're into? He looks as old as my dad. It's gross."

"What do you know about it? You're just jealous," Blaine said, changing tactics and going on the offensive. "I have somebody who loves me and you've never had that. Don't judge something you don't understand." He stood to walk away and Kurt called after him.

"So why not shout this beautiful love to the rooftops, Blaine? Oh yeah, because he's a teacher and you're just a student. You don't see anything wrong with that? If the administration knew about this –"

Blaine spun around, panic-stricken. "Don't, Kurt. Don't tell anybody," he pleaded. "Why are you so mad, anyway?"

Kurt's jaw tightened. He refused to acknowledge that he was mad because Blaine had flirted so intensely with him that he felt betrayed, hurt. He refused to give Blaine that satisfaction. He improvised, "Because you didn't tell me. We're supposed to be friends, friends don't keep secrets."

Blaine nodded slowly, "You're right, but be fair, Kurt, how could I tell you about this? I - - I'm not supposed to tell," he said, his voice getting breathless. "I wanted to talk to you about it - - but he'll be furious if he finds out - -"

"I thought he loves you so much."

"Well, he does. In his way. But that's the number one rule, I can't tell," Blaine choked out, "I can't tell, I'll get in trouble, he'll get mad."

Kurt didn't say anything, and Blaine tried to explain, stumbling over the words.

"You don't understand. It's complicated. I owe him a lot. He helped me - - made me over so I fit in here, taught me so much - -"

Kurt stared, uncomprehending. "And what was so wrong with you the way you were? Isn't it better to be yourself, and then if people like you, it's for yourself, not for some fake act?"

Blaine stared down, defeated. "I don't have your courage, I guess."

Kurt smirked. "I guess not. But I won't need any 'mentoring' from here out. I'll just stick with being myself. You might want to try it."

The shot landed, he could see without any real satisfaction in hurting his ex-friend's feelings. And Kurt knew that the friendship was over now; Blaine turned away, face still as stone, and went up the stairs without another word, with Kurt staring after him unhappily.

Once he got to his room, Blaine sat down shakily on the bed, trying to process everything Kurt had said. He realized that he hadn't gotten Kurt to promise not to tell. He'd been too devastated by the look of contempt in Kurt's eyes. Any respect Kurt had for him was gone now, now that he knew that he was a coward and a phony. And he didn't even know the worst of it, that was the thing.

Blaine knew that of anyone at the school, Kurt would be the least judgmental, so if this story got out, about him and a teacher … he knew now that _everybody_ would turn against him. Worse, if it got back to administration, he might be expelled, he panicked. He was pretty sure Kurt wouldn't tell … but what if he did?

He got up and rummaged in his closet, way in the back for the oldest friend he had, his beat-up old guitar. He tuned it while his mind raced, then started playing, forgetting the rules for now. This was the one way he knew to calm down, to remember that no matter what else happened he would always have his music. His hands stilled over the strings when Wes in the next room banged on the wall to tell him to keep it down. He sat holding onto the guitar, hugging it against his chest, staring over at the mirror on his door. It held a reflection of a stranger holding his familiar guitar, the one he'd played for change in that subway station when Miles found him there and changed his life. He'd thought that he was happy, when all he was, was safe and well-fed, like Kurt's bird in its cage.

He reflected how strange he found it that Kurt chafed under the system of rules that he had come to find comfort in here at Dalton. But Kurt had advantages that Blaine never had – a family who loved and accepted him. A real home. Hell, Kurt dieted constantly, out of fear of putting on an ounce of fat on his slender frame, and out of disgust for the starchy, bland food served at the school, something he might not mind if he had any idea what it was like to go to sleep hungry, or not to know where another meal was coming from. Kurt hated the school's uniforms, because he had choices of what clothes to wear, and didn't know what it was like to sleep in a car in the same clothes you had on yesterday and would have on again tomorrow. And Kurt hated the school's rules because he didn't know what true 'freedom' was like at its most extreme … like Janis sang, 'just another word for nothin' left to lose.' Blaine, on the other hand, had loved the structure, the certainty, the safety of life here at the school, in contrast to his old life.

But unexpectedly, he wanted out of the cage now; he wanted to fly free like Kurt. With Kurt. But it would never happen. The mirage had disappeared and a desert of sameness had been revealed behind it … and the alternative even worse. He couldn't go back to his old school, he couldn't go back to the group home he'd run away from and he wouldn't face life on the street now. He couldn't do it again. He'd learned too much about what he was missing, tied to this relationship with Miles. The boy he'd tried to mentor had taught him that, but not how to break free when there was no safety net for him.


	4. Chapter 4

Kurt kept isolating himself at school over the next couple of days, with guilt over his nasty treatment of Blaine eating at him now along with the pre-existing jealousy and disappointment that had troubled him before. He dreaded the next time he would have to see him, in a multi-grade music theory class, with Mr. Stevens of all people. He cursed the day Blaine had talked him into signing up for the class, the only music elective available that they both could attend. Not only was the class difficult and tedious, he now would have to endure looking at both Blaine and his lover in the same room for an hour.

He walked with leaden feet toward the music room, spotting a seat by the door which was already boxed in by three other boys. He sank into it gratefully and glanced around furtively as the bell rang. He felt a mixture of relief and disappointment when he saw Blaine wasn't in class today. He turned his attention to the front of the room where Mr. Stevens was lecturing, but he didn't really hear the words as he studied the lecturer closely instead. Miles Stevens was a good-looking man with salt-and-pepper hair and a razor-sharp wit, someone Kurt had found rather intriguing before he knew the man knew Blaine the way he did. Kurt frowned slightly, thinking back to the conversation several days ago in the lounge, and something Blaine had let drop. Blaine had said that Miles mentored him from the time he came to Dalton, but … Blaine had come here three years ago, hadn't he? He would have been just a kid then … exactly how long had this … situation … been going on? He wondered with a slightly sick feeling. Glancing at the refined-looking, elegant man at the front of the room, he shook his head. It must have turned romantic between them recently, he thought uncertainly.

The door to the classroom swung open so abruptly that it hit the wall with a clatter, and all eyes in the room turned toward it. Kurt blinked, goggle-eyed, at Blaine's appearance as he swayed slightly in the doorway.

Blaine looked right at Kurt and then away again, reaching for the doorknob. "Sorry, Mr. Stevens," he said, his voice sounding strange and thickened. He shut the door solicitously and turned back around, running a hand through wild, curly dark hair that looked like Blaine had just got out of bed and come straight to class. He was unshaven, Kurt saw with shock, and his shirt looked rumpled and slept-in. He trudged past Kurt and sat in a seat front and center, with a thud.

The silence in the class was electric; appearing for class looking that unkempt, in this school, was grounds in itself for discipline. Being late was another. And the glassy look in Blaine's eyes, his slurred speech, indicated he was hung over or worse, which was grounds for more than just the standard demerits. The group waited as Blaine and Stevens stared each other down, Blaine looking defiant and Stevens looking enraged, before dragging his eyes from Blaine's face and continuing the lecture without commentary on Blaine's transgressions. The other boys were glancing at each other whenever Stevens turned away to point to the board, but Kurt focused on Blaine, worried. Blaine's head was drooping toward the desk drowsily, and he was holding onto his desk tightly as if to keep from falling out of his seat. There could be no doubt he was drunk, and it was ten in the morning.

Kurt became more and more nervous and worried as the lecture droned on, unheeded, and finally it ended, with Blaine and Kurt both jumping in their seats at the ring of the bell.

"Chapter 9 for next week," Stevens said. "Blaine, you wait after class."

Kurt gathered his book and notebook into his bag and went out the door, which Stevens closed behind him. He started slowly down the hall, but something made him hesitate and creep back to the classroom and hover just outside to listen.


	5. Chapter 5

The room seemed to sway and shimmer like the air over a hot car hood as Blaine watched Miles return to stand in front of his desk and lean against it, his arms crossed. He blinked and focused, knowing from that disapproving look that he was in trouble again.

"What are you doing, Blaine? What's all this acting out about?"

Blaine twirled a lock of his hair in his fingers and shrugged.

"I told you, if you need to get that kid Kurt out of your system, I'll look the other way for a little while and let you. So what's the problem? Talk to me."

"Number one, Kurt's not interested in being with someone like me. He wants somebody who thinks for himself, not some old guy's robot plaything like you turned me into."

After a pause, Miles prompted, "Okay; then what's number two?"

"Number two is that I can't sleep - - I got drunk last night because I couldn't take it anymore. Miles … I … I'm tired."

"C'mon, Blaine. You're seventeen. You don't know what tired is. So you're up nights thinking about this little crush, is that it?"

"That's part of it. Mainly I'm tired of pretending. Pretending to be something I'm not. Pretending with you." He rubbed his eyes and pleaded, "Can't you see how tired I am of all this? Can't you just let me go?"

"You finished whining now?"

Blaine sighed, waiting for the verbal abuse, and tuned out as Miles started in. He knew it all already, could tell where in the tirade Miles was by the tone if not the words. How he was nothing when Miles found him, how he'd be nothing without him now, how he should be grateful. How if he didn't shape up and pull himself together, Miles would have no choice but to punish him by taking away his scholarship. It was weird how Miles sounded like a father, even if a cruel and harsh one, and a jealous, possessive boyfriend all at the same time. Blaine knew it didn't matter and that there was no point in arguing anymore; he knew everything Miles said was true and he had to just take it … it wasn't like he had any options or that anybody else really cared about him. Miles slammed a hand on the desk in front of him.

"Are you listening to me, damn it? You useless piece of - -"

"Excuse me," a flute-like voice interjected. Both Blaine and Miles turned to see Kurt striding into the room, a determined switch in his hips as he walked. "I left my good pen in here," he was saying, glancing around his desk. "That's odd, maybe I dropped it in the hall. Hm." The slender boy put a hand on his hip and swiveled slightly, looking right at Blaine, who looked down in shame. Kurt tilted his head and said sharply, "Hey, Blaine, are you okay? I hear a bug's going around, you'll want to be careful. Maybe you ought to go back to your dorm and lie down … you need me to walk you back there when you and Mr. Stevens are done? You look a little green around the gills."

Blaine's head was pounding, or was it his heart? It must be his heart, it was warming him all over to see Kurt and hear him talking to him again. He was bursting with grateful smiles at Kurt, but then ducked his head and his smile faded when he caught Miles' eye.

"If you need another minute I'll be right outside the door," Kurt said, his eyes narrowed and steely, and staring an astonished Miles in the face. Blaine's mouth fell open and he nodded speechlessly.

Miles stared at Kurt for a long moment and then jerked a careless hand at Blaine. "You can go, Blaine. But don't show up in my class in this condition again. Consider this a warning."

Kurt stepped in front of Miles and peered at Blaine closely. "You coming along? You look like you could use some water," he said, reaching into his bag and pulling out a bottled water. "Drink that while we walk. You need to rehydrate."

Blaine obediently downed some water and stood, taking Kurt's hand and letting himself be led out of the room. Kurt paused at the door, murmuring, "You first," and sending a murderous glare back at Miles before following.


	6. Chapter 6

They were both keenly aware of the eyes on them as they down the blinding-white spiral of stairs, Blaine holding onto Kurt with one hand and onto the banister with the other, unsteady and unfocused. The buzzing crowd parted to let them by, and Kurt resolutely led the swaying boy out the door toward the dorms.

"Kurt - -" Blaine said, his voice thick and hoarse, but Kurt shook his head.

"Not until we can really have this out," he said crisply, and Blaine subsided, following meekly like a well-trained dog behind its master.

He tried again once they were in the room, but Kurt shook his head, shutting the door and moving to take off Blaine's jacket. "You're drunk." He took a hanger out of Blaine's closet and carefully hung up the jacket.

"Yes. A little," Blaine admitted, "But - -"

Kurt pulled a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt out of Blaine's dresser. "Go in the bathroom. Change into these, and come back," he ordered, sitting down primly on the bed and crossing his legs.

A few minutes later, Blaine emerged looking sheepish and Kurt patted the bed next to him.

"Sit down."

Blaine lingered by the closet a moment, reaching just inside the door and picking up his guitar, looping the strap over his shoulder and strumming nervously.

"It helps me relax," he half-sang, seeing Kurt's questioning look.

"I didn't even know you played," Kurt said as Blaine climbed on the bed and scooted past Kurt, settling with his back against the wall and never breaking the rambling tune he was playing. "What's that you're playing? I don't recognize it."

"Something I wrote. A long time ago."

They sat quietly, listening to the haunting melody of the guitar.

"Blaine, why are you sleeping with that guy?"

The hands stilled on the guitar. "That's pretty blunt."

"I pride myself on my directness," Kurt said. "And here's another blunt truth: he doesn't love you."

"He loves me –"

"Blaine. He doesn't really love you. Love - - doesn't hurt, and he's _hurting_ you."

Years of conditioning made Blaine flush defensively. Part of him felt the urge to stand up for Miles, to lash out and point out that Kurt was speaking from no experience, but he looked into Kurt's wise face and instead looked away and plucked aimlessly at the guitar strings. The truth came out of his mouth instead of the defenses. "I wouldn't know. That's the closest thing to love I've ever had … maybe I'll ever have."

"How can you say that? You're so amazing - - "

Blaine's eyes flashed back to his. "You don't know what I am."

"Tell me, then," Kurt whispered, sliding back on the bed and propping himself against the wall shoulder to shoulder with Blaine, watching the slim hands moving up and down the guitar neck while the boy's eyes showed his mind was on other things, bitter memories. "What about your family? Do they know about you and Miles?"

"I haven't seen my mother in years. Never knew my father," Blaine said indifferently. "CPS took me out of the house when I was eight, I ended up in the foster care system. Some of the homes were okay, but some of them were pretty bad." The dancing fingers never stilled their music while Blaine talked on, his guard down, about the beatings and humiliations and abuse at what passed for home and at school.

"It got so bad I ended up running away, living on the street," he said. "I did whatever I had to, to survive. Shoplifting. Busking. A little street hustling when I got hungry enough or cold enough. It was one way to get out of the cold for a while."

Kurt flinched a little and Blaine's lips curled into a smirk.

"I was fourteen and singing in a subway terminal with my friend here," he said, nodding at the guitar. "Miles took me back to his hotel room in New York - - he was conducting there for the summer - - and I was like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. The nice hotel, the handsome big shot client. And when it was time for him to go back to Dalton, he had me put in an application for a scholarship. And he made sure I got it, too."

"Can he really take that away, Blaine? You're the best singer in the school, you deserve that scholarship."

Blaine's face darkened. "I didn't get it for my singing, though," he choked, putting down the guitar finally and starting to turn away. "What should I do, Kurt? What would _you_ do?"


End file.
